


lavender tea

by dykeacademia



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: F/F, Morning Routines, Schizophrenia, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, just a soft fic about vespa and mornings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27475882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dykeacademia/pseuds/dykeacademia
Summary: vespa has always been a light sleeper and an early riser. so she spends most of her mornings by herself on the carte blanche, while the rest of the ship sleeps. she's got a routine, now, something just for her. the aloneness is calming.
Relationships: Buddy Aurinko/Vespa Ilkay
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	lavender tea

**Author's Note:**

> i love vespa and she deserves a mf BREAK okay,,, anyway this is sort of a character study and it's a bit long but i promise it's worth the read :") also, a big thank you to leo (@opaldawn) for betaing!! <3
> 
> also! quick disclaimer: i'm not schizophrenic and i don't experience any form of psychosis, hallucinations, or delusions. if i depicted vespa's schizophrenia in a way that's incorrect or offensive, please let me know.

vespa was still used to her days on mars. her shitty little apartment, with its deep green rug and the scuffed coffee table. she was used to the harsh wing and the acrid dust that settled into her skin. it wasn't easy, living in the cerberus province. frankly, most of it was a hazy blur. she'd tried to drown herself in work, tried to forget about the debtor's tag around her neck. it was hell. but the sunrises were something magnificent.

every morning, she'd wake up at the ass crack of dawn just to watch. the way the sky split in two, jagged streaks of carnelian slicing through the gray. the air was always thick with haze and debris, but even the gritty clouds couldn't obscure the brilliant red of the martian morning. it was hypnotizing. the way soft strands of pink would weave through the dark, followed by delicate orange and yellows, lacing themselves through the empty space where stars had glimmered just a moment before.

she never missed it. not once.

sometimes, when she was tired, or sick, or hallucinations had clawed holes through her sclera and she couldn't quite keep them at bay. she'd step out the front door, breathe in the martian soot, and let her eyes blur. the oranges and reds began to dance, to swim before her like brightly colored koi. (she'd seen them on a stream once. they were mesmerizing, the way they twirled and circled each other so effortlessly.)

if she let her vision soften just right, the sky wasn't blue and yellow, pink and black. it was fire, thick and strong and floating in the air, so warm she could almost feel them. it wasn't a sunrise, not just a cosmic afterthought of sunrays, dust, and nitrogen. it was the curls that swirled around buddy’s shoulders, the way they burned the air and set the world alight. she could imagine the gentle weight to them, how they swung and fluttered as if they were fall leaves in a breeze.

(buddy was the worst part of it. both when she wasn't there, and when she was.)

but if she just stared at the sun, let her eyes drift and wander, she could forget about everything. the heavy poison in her lungs and in her blood, the hallucinations that flashed like knives in front of her vision, that dug their blades into her eardrums, till blood poured like tears and she couldn't tell what was real. she could forget the weights around her ankles and around her neck, and she could remember the way that buddy’s arm used to drape around her shoulders. the way that her curls used to drape on vespa’s skin, on late nights and bright mornings like these.

she had buddy, and that's all she needed. but that didn't mean she stopped wanting.

she missed the sunrise.

they kept to a clock system, to keep themselves from fading in and out of a proper sleep schedule. here, there was no sun to stream through windows and wake them up. and she could argue that this system was better. blinking shards of sunrays out of your vision was never a pleasant way to wake. but vespa missed it anyway.

she still woke early, whether from nightmares or habit, sometimes both. and she could never roll over and fall back asleep like buddy did. it was hilarious, honestly. the queen of crime, buddy aurinko herself, couldn't wake up with less than three alarms and two piping cups of coffee (and a good morning kiss, for good measure). but vespa was a light sleeper, always tossing and turning and awake at a moment’s notice. once she was up, she was up for the day. 

she used to wake to watch the sunrise, to let the warm tones slip under her ribcage and wrap around her heart. but on the carte blanche, she'd found a new way to burn the hours before the rest of the ship awoke.

every morning, she'd wake at some godawful hour (she hadn't bothered to check the clocks for weeks now) and slowly step out of bed, careful not to wake buddy. if a kiss was necessary to keep her girlfriend asleep, well, that was no one's business but hers. she'd quietly head into the washroom, brush her teeth and face and drag long fingers through her hair. it was finally a good length, long enough to soften her jaw and curl around her chin, short enough that it didn't get in the way. she'd get dressed, something simple and easy, and then she’d head for the kitchen.

the room was bare, a small fridge, a stove, and some cabinets that rita loved to stuff full of snacks (with fucking ridiculous names, really, who came up with those?). tucked behind a bag of “honey maple apple neptune cracker bites with super extra almond crunchies” was a small tin and a tea kettle. she grabbed them both, the thin metal of the kettle gently clanging against the counter. she swallowed a curse.

every morning, while the rest of the ship slept, and the carte blanche floated slowly through space, vespa made herself a cup of tea. 

it was nothing fancy, just a blend of green tea and lavender buds. she wasn't some pretentious snob about the type of dead leaves she put in hot water. she'd seen it once, at a stand in the cerberus province, one of the days she was missing buddy with a fervor. the woman behind the stand had bright red curls, just like buddy, and vespa couldn't walk away. she pulled out the last few creds she had to spare, thrust it at the vendor, and asked roughly for something soothing. the woman gave her a kind smile, and vespa was surprised to find not a hint of condescension or pity. she just handed vespa a small metal tin and shook her head when she offered what she had. 

it was a freezing winter day, and vespa rushed home to her shabby apartment. she grabbed a pot, filled it with water, and brought it to a boil. the steam unfurled and warmed the air like a roaring flame. soon, it was ready, and she poured it over the leaves, watching the pale yellow-green shade color the water. it wasn't the best thing she'd ever tasted, but it was warm, and just a tiny bit sweet, and she could taste buddy’s words on her lips. the knot in her heart began to uncoil.

it had become her favorite tea.

the soft hiss of the kettle brought vespa gently back to the carte blanche, and she poured it over the dark tea leaves. she could smell the fragrance of the lavender, the vegetal hints of the green tea. the steam drifted up towards her cheeks and she inhaled deeply. she closed her eyes, and she could see the sunrise. just as beautiful as ever.

she took another moment to breathe, and then her tea was finished steeping. pulling the tea strainer out, a contraption of wired mesh and thin metal rods that ensnared the leaves inside, she placed it in the sink, and opened another cupboard. this one had a large glass jar of sugar, for god knows why, but she wasn't complaining. taking off the lid and tipping it over, she poured a small amount of sugar in. (somewhat. it was somewhat small. but no one was there to see it, so it was fine. besides, she was a doctor. it was perfectly fine.)

she stirred the sugar slowly, watching the pale crystals dissolve in the hot tea. it was mesmerizing, to watch the liquid swirl and spin in the mug. it was calming, relaxing. and she could certainly use some of that. after the sugar dissolved, she headed for the fridge. there was a large jug of milk in there, because buddy, peter, and rita were all soulless monsters who liked milk in their coffee. (it shouldn't be legal to do something like that.) she drank it in tea, like a normal person.

she loved adding milk to her tea, even if she was lactose-intolerant and it tore through her intestines like a spiked blade. she just couldn’t find a non-dairy milk she liked, and besides, what was anything without a little risk involved? and it was worth it, just for the way it looked as she poured in the milk. the way the two liquids swirled and mixed, it was mesmerizing. she couldn't explain it in any other way. it was mundane, and boring, and  _ pretty _ .

then, of course, she stirred it, and it was gone. just like that, something beautiful and simple, disappearing before her eyes. if she were ransom, she'd have some fanciful analogy to tie everything into. but she was vespa ilkay, and it was just some fucking tea.

she sipped it slowly, the warm drink spilling into her like liquid light, warm and sweet and soothing. she'd never let anyone bar buddy see her like this, all relaxed and gentle, but it was a side of herself she was beginning to get to know. she thought she quite liked it. 

that side of her, however, wasn't exactly second nature. it was learned, hard-won, and it was chemically induced.

medication was something entirely familiar to vespa. she’d doled out enough prescriptions, and had to give the same speech every time. taking medication didn't mean you were lesser than. just because you needed a little extra help to keep going didn’t mean you were weak or useless. she knew the spiel by heart, and perhaps she'd altered it a little to suit her own vernacular, but the message was the same. psychiatric medication didn't “change” you. it helped you function somewhere closer to normal. and she was fucking thankful for whatever scrap of normalcy she could manage.

so every morning, she took three small pills with her tea. an antipsychotic, a painkiller and anti-nausea medication, and a dose of estrogen. it was a quick, easy thing, but it was a constant reminder that her body was far too close to falling apart than she'd like. but she'd worked it into her routine; made a cup of tea and stared at the sunrise while making sure to swallow three of the four things keeping her alive. 

they went down easier every time. it had taken too many years to stop fighting everyone and everything that tried to help her, and she was only just beginning to let everyone else in. but they were… a family, as much as she shied away from that word, and maybe they wanted it just as much as she did.

(she'd never had a real family before, even if that's what it said on the tin, and she was ~~scared~~ hesitant to put her heart out there again, to keep it unprotected and trusting, when it backfired every time.)

but this morning, there was no one there but the soft lights of far-away suns and the steam that drifted over her cheeks. everyone was still asleep, snow-silent, and she was the only one awake. even the hallucinations had slithered away, back to the dark recesses of her mind where they came from. she didn't want to jinx it, but it was certainly nice. aloneness on this ship was a rarity, but a good kind. like that small pebble you find in your shoe that fits perfectly in the palm of your hand, with the small glints of gold and green if you catch the sunlight  _ just _ right. 

it was good.

she was alone, but not lonely, and that small distinction was a new kind of wonderful she was just beginning to get used to. she was learning to love, and learning to be loved, and maybe she was taking small steps, but that was movement all the same. she was not the same vespa ilkay she was then, stranded on ranga, drowning in woodsmoke and acrid words. she was not the same vespa ilkay that decayed on mars, hoping and praying for someone to save her, and finally going to save herself.

she was the vespa ilkay of today, with the love of her life and a few other people she might just find room in her heart for. and that was all she could ask for, really.

maybe, just maybe, she was going to be okay.


End file.
